Dear Nicky
by EmiMusicalnerd
Summary: Avenue Q. Sequal to 'Growing Old with you' and set one year after the events in it. Rod writes Nicky a letter. T for swearing and insanity. One shot.


Avenue Q meets Rent

A/N: Just want to dedicate this one to every one of my readers – seriously, you have no idea how much your reviews make me happy! And also to the person who has to put up with me fretting and panicking while I'm writing, Robjimbobjam (Just wanna say, if you're into Torchwood, GO AND READ HER FIC. LIKE… NOW. It's awesome… like WOAH. Oh, and we're also co-writing a fic together that is probably never going to be finished, but whatever. It's Torchwood meets Sweeney Todd. It's gonna be AWESOME.) Oh, and Aaaaahbeee, you man, as you got a mention, I'd better get one in your next chapterrrr! XP

And, just to let y'all know, the lack of grammar in general in the final sentence is on purpose, not just some random act of laziness on my part.

And, I don't own Avenue Q at- in fact, YES, I OWN AVENUE Q. I OWN IT. AND SHAME ON YOU, BOBBY/JEFF L/JEFF W FOR GOING ON FANFICTION SITES, SEARCHING FOR YOUR WORK AND SUEING POOR INNOCENT FANGIRLS!! FOR. SHAME.

Dear Nicky,  
It's been one year today that you left me. I still don't want to admit to myself that you've gone… If I stay in bed and keep my arms tight around me, than the tears don't spout out of me. Stop it all from spilling all over the floor, and flooding the room. If I don't open my mouth to eat, to talk, then I can't scream for hours on end, clawing at the door, at the window, at the floor, hoping that everything I do brings you back to me.

If you came into the room right now Nicky, you'd see me, curled up on your bed, like I have been this past year, in your clothes, with everything you own around me. I need to keep you around me, you see. I need you to be around me. All the time. The light hurts my eyes, so the curtains are closed, and the light is off. Its dinner, but I'm not hungry. I never am anymore. Ricky leaves some food outside the door if I've locked it or on the bedside table if I've not. I don't want to face food. I can't stomach it. If I do eat, I puke it up straight away.

I miss you. Nicky, I keep on expecting you to be just around the corner, and for the first couple of months, I actually pretended you were. I couldn't grasp that you weren't going to be just there with your endless smile, so I just pretended you were. I couldn't face reality, so I stayed inside my head. Where you were. In my head, you didn't run out of the house to get a present for me, you had already got it for me, you'd remembered. We stayed in all day just talking, reminiscing, eating cake and getting drunk on the expensive wine Ricky had got me. You were still alive, and you didn't leave me. You never left me. You stayed with me all the time.

You were so naïve, Nicky. You were so childlike and innocent. Too trusting, too giving and too kind. You didn't realise that these things could have happened to you. You didn't realise that you could die at any time, death only happened when you were old and ready, not when you were young, and you had your whole life ahead of you. You never said what you wanted us to do for you, if you wanted to be cremated or buried; if you wanted a big funeral with everybody you've ever known there, or just a quite little thing in a little church somewhere. It was a week after you left me, but in my head, you were still with me… so Ricky had to plan it all. The street had decided to wear all bright colours. We all stood out like sore thumbs, everybody else was wearing black. You would've liked it, Nicky. I was wearing your hoodie and baggy jeans - I needed to keep some part of you with me. I hated leaving the house; it felt as if I had left you behind. I don't remember much about it. I retreated inside my head and pretended it wasn't happening. I think your mother tried to talk to me... She looks exactly like you. It freaked me out so much, I had to run out. I ran all the way back to the apartment, crawled back into your bed and cried all night. I still wasn't even looking at Ricky without sobbing, so seeing your mother took me by surprise.

Me and Ricky aren't together anymore, Nicky. Don't blame yourself, I know you will. It wasn't you. You didn't come between us. He still lives with me, to make sure I'm okay. He's seeing some guy called Bobby that Christmas Eve introduced him to. Bitch. I still love him Nicky, you found him for me, how could I not? He says they're not together, that he still loves me, Bobby is just here to help me, but I've heard them on the phone and seen them through the window, talking on the street. They're together. I can tell from the way they look at each other. It's clear.

Ricky's fake tears and cries that he still loves me fall on hard ears. He doesn't love me. Nobody does. Nobody cares about me anymore.

About 3 months ago, I thought it'd be better if all of your clothes, photographs and old dirty magazines went away, out of sight. I wouldn't have to think about you then. Ricky said I was doing the right thing, I was getting better and I was coming back to him. Liar. He just wants me all to himself; he doesn't want me to stay with you, in here, in bed, talking. He's jealous of us, you see Nicky. But, all of your stuff packed away in boxes bothered me so much, that within 5 minutes of tidying everything up and folding everything away, I had put it all back exactly the way it was. You didn't like it all tidied up, you pouted. You always knew how to make me do things; all it took was a pout and a bat of your eyes. Damn you and your cuteness. No. Don't damn you. You're not damned. You're blessed.

They're only real thing that I have left of you now, your possessions. Your smell has gone from the pillow, your imprint has disappeared from your bed… but all your stuff… your photos, your bags, your clothes… They're still all around me. All the time. I never get out of this bed. It's you. I could never leave you. They try and make me. They say it's not healthy. They say I need to try and get on with my life. Don't they understand, Nicky, that you ARE my life? You are! You're the reason that I'm still here on this stupid planet… They don't want me to do anything 'Stupid' Nicky, so they've took away all my belts, even my Prada! And they've hidden all the pills. But I'll find them. Oh yes I will. In the dead of night, i'll find them. And i'll drink drink drink that bottle that i've hidden from them all and i'll take all those pills oh yes i will and then we'll be together again i'll be with you Nicky oh yes i will.

Ricky knocked on the door of Rod's room. Bobby, Rod's therapist, was coming round, and he was going to see how Rod was before he came. The door wasn't locked. He opened it. There was Rod on his bed, in his usual position. He called Rod's name softly, and he looked up from whatever he was writing. Rod looked him in the eyes for the first time in a year, and Ricky smiled with the hope that Rod was finally better.  
"Nicky! There you are! I was looking for you!"  
Ricky looked down, disappointed. Oh.  
"Rod… I'm Ricky. Not Nicky. Nicky's dead." It felt almost cruel to say it out loud like that, but he needed to say it. No matter what had happened, he still loved him. So much. And they'd get through this.  
"Don't say that Nicky! You're there. You're not dead." Rod got out of bed and walked towards Ricky, as Ricky just looked at Rod sympathetically, trying to make him understand. "You're NOT. YOU'RE NOT! YOU CAN'T BE." Tears started filling Rod's eyes. "DON'T LOOK AT ME IKE THAT NICKY!! YOU'RE THERE! YOU'RE NOT DEAD! STOP IT! YOU'RE ALIVE!! " and with that, Rod collapsed on the floor, screaming in grief, with Ricky stood stiffly upright, tears filling his eyes, unable to look at his boyfriend in so much pain.

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